


An Ear Like Mozart

by RRS_15



Category: Half-Life
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Gen, Post-Half-Life: Alyx, Spoilers, Spoilers for Half-Life: Alyx
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29906088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RRS_15/pseuds/RRS_15
Summary: The ship had collapsed, a great beast brought to its knees. He had only just arrived, just in time to see her fall. The mission failed. Partially. All that's left, is to escape the Quarantine Zone. (Major spoilers for Half-Life: Alyx)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. A Foe Has Fallen

Rare occasions deserved a reward, especially when they involved the death of a horrifyingly mutilated spore monster. The sun twinkled out behind the dilapidated buildings in the distance, brilliant splashes of red and orange trying to resist the encroaching darkness. With a final wary scan around the crumbling office, and a quick glance towards the door he had shoved closed with a desk, Larry Anderson settled down on the least infested square foot of floor with a relieved groan. He eyed the bottle he held in his hand, watching the light diffuse through the dark liquid. An appreciative whistle fled from his lips.

“Finally, a chance to taste the finest Gold Lion has to offer,” he spoke to the rapidly darkening sky, a chuckle following his pronouncement. Fifteen years ago, had he been locked in a quality distillery for months without having to worry consequences with the law, he would’ve rejoiced. Now though, he hadn’t gotten drunk in years. These days he considered himself lucky to let his guard down, even fractionally.

Evading Jeff for the past few months had put him on a sharper edge than anything he had previously encountered. He lamented the days only headcrabs, zombies, and CPs were his most dangerous enemies. Well, they still were, but Jeff… A shudder rolled over Larry’s body in a wave, finger twitching as he instinctively reached down to grasp his gun-which was in Keith. Or to be more precise, what was left of Keith.

 _Damn it,_ thought Larry with a dejected tone in his mind.

 _Maybe Keith didn’t crush my gun. Maybe the semi-acidic digestive enzymes haven’t completely eaten through it._ With a small pit of despair settling in his stomach, his optimism slowly shriveled away. Although he was half-decent at Texas Hold-Em, it was impossible to bluff against himself.

With another dejected sigh, he carefully unclasped the buckle under his chin, pulling his helmet off carelessly. Swiping at the sweat on his forehead with his forearm, he glanced back down at the bottle of vodka still gripped tightly in his left hand. Even a few sips of this stuff could easily set him off-kilter, well, more so than he wanted.

 _Maybe I should have grabbed some of that Kvass I stashed away._ Larry considering this for a few moments, tapping his fingers unconsciously against the filthy hazmat suit he had managed to poach from a dead Combine soldier.

 _Eh, why not._ _There’re probably thousands of bottles here, I should use some of the really good stuff. Bonus being I won’t get instantly hammered._ Carefully placing the bottle down on habit, Larry heaved to his feet, wincing at the last ray of sunlight piercing his eyes. Snagging his helmet off the floor, he pulled it on before carefully securing it with a faint click of the clasp. A heavy sigh fell from his lips as he walked over to the door, grabbing his pack and swinging his arms through the straps with ease. And now another issue. The desk stood, seeming to stare at him. He stared back. Truth be told, this was the one of the few times he had been able to create a barricade on this scale ever since he had holed up in the distillery with Jeff. Working up the nerve to shove it against the door had taken him longer than he cared to admit. Silence was Larry’s greatest defense against Jeff, and now, he was hesitant to make any sort of noise above conversational tone, despite the infested beast’s gruesome demise. Another shudder made him squirm uncomfortably in his suit, the sensation of something crawling over his skin forcing him to nervously scratch at his neck with the rubber gloves encasing his hands.

 _Wonder if I’ll ever feel relaxed when a loud noise is made._ A small, mirthless chuckle fell from Larry’s cracked lips. He doubted he would ever completely recover from his time in the QZ. He had only spoken to a total of seven people since he had snuck in four years ago, and one of them was a crazier-than-normal vortigaunt. Lack of human interaction had changed him, and Larry had enough self-awareness to acknowledge this, albeit grudgingly. Normal people didn’t willingly walk into an alien-infested city borough. Normal people didn’t semi-willingly live above a more-horrifying-than-normal man-eating monster. And he was fairly confident normal people will never name face-eating aliens and plants, speaking to them like people. He was 100% certain he was the only person ever to grow a small garden of the least dangerous (he broke this rule for unique specimens) Xen flora to try and study how they grew, trying to find out if it was possible to crossbreed them. Larry shook away his darkening thoughts.

 _Keep it together Larry, you can think about what color you want your padded cell to be afterwards._ Reaching his hands out, he placed them against the desk. Hesitation overtook him again. With a deep breath, he steeled himself and shoved against the desk. Predictably, it gave out another horrible screech of steel against concrete. Unpredictably, Larry crouched down in a panic, the transition from silence to deafening shrieks giving him whiplash. Eyes darting around the room, straining to hear the guttural roar, he desperately tried to find something to distract it, draw him away-He’s dead. The almost embarrassed realization ground his movements to a halt.

 _Jeff is dead. He’s not coming_. A shuddering breath.

 _I’m so messed up._ Standing up with an embarrassed cough, Larry tried to ignore the faint trembling of his hands.

 _Tomorrow_ , he decided on the fly. _I’ll pack everything up, get out of the QZ somehow, and somehow find the Resistance again. I’ve gotten as much data as I’ll ever be able to. Maybe I can bring a couple specimens back with me._ He pondered this while determinedly shoving the desk completely free of the door. Thinking helped him ignore the noise. Somewhat.

 _Maybe I should say goodbye to Tatanya and Alejandro, hell, why not the Vort too?_ Larry paused as he grabbed the squeaky door handle, a small smile lighting up his face as an idea flew into his head eagerly.

 _Hey, maybe I’ll ask them to come! Last I spoke to Anton, he sounded like he really wanted out of the QZ. And they can help carry my notes!_ Mostly ignoring the squeak as he pushed the door open, he laid out a tentative plan.

 _Alright, celebrate tonight, pack tomorrow, swing around to the others, bring anyone who wants out, get out of the Quarantine Zone, and hopefully find the Resistance again. Hopefully._ Larry strolled down the hallway, feeling a bit more relaxed. Tension was still wrapped around his limbs, but it had loosened somewhat. Humming the lyrics of “Once in a Lifetime,” he made his way down the rapidly darkening hallways with the aid of his flashlight. After several twists and turns, jumping over pieces of collapsed floor, the door to what he had dubbed “The Treasure Room,” presented itself dully.

Opening the door, he glanced around the room for rouge headcrabs. Seeing and hearing none, he glanced over to his pile of valuables. Well, if alcohol, a couple dozen notebooks, a vintage polaroid (finding that had felt like striking gold, especially upon discovery that it still worked), dozens of photographs carefully hidden in thick, unbendable folders (finding those had been like finding diamonds), and a couple of vodka bottles containing a few of the more rare specimens he had chanced upon, could be counted as valuables. Striding over to the corner of the room, he coughed a few times as he rifled through the wooden crate he had placed on a table. Pleasant clinks of glass sang through Larry’s ears as he pushed bottles aside, lifting them up to scrutinize the label before letting them fall back into the crate with a dull thud. Soon finding his prize, he let out a quiet “Ah-ha! There you are, precious. Nothing like a good old-fashioned bottle ‘o kvass. Kvass? Vass? Kay-vass?” Frowning, he briefly inspected the label before waving his hand dismissively.

 _Ah, whatever. I just wanna celebrate the death of a mortal enemy, I’m not here to correctly pronounce Russian. Or Romanian. Whatever._ Shrugging indifferently, Larry slotted the bottle into his backpack with the care of holding a baby, replacing the generic brand he had kept on hand for distracting the blind zombie. Shrugging his pack back on and walking back to the door, he paused just as he touched the doorknob.

 _I should go pay my respects to Jeff._ Bewilderment in his voice, he spoke out loud.

“He tried to kill me. Many times. And he invades about 65% of my nightmares.” _But he’s dead, and so is the poor bastard that used to be Jeff._ Larry let out another sigh. All he seemed to do these days.

 _I make a very convincing argument, don’t I? Not to mention, drinking alone can result in alcoholism._ An ironic snicker flew into the air. Honestly, it was a miracle that he had the self-control to barely touch a drop of the stuff ever since he made his way into the distillery. Face-melting reanimated corpses tended to make a very convincing argument against lowering one’s inhibitions. But hey, Jeff was dead, and he wanted to commend the occasion. Carefully. What was the saying? ‘If you’re going to do something stupid, be smart about it.’ Walking through the doorway with a shrug, he started toward the antlion vault before quickly turning around and quickly walking in the opposite direction.

 _Quick detour, maybe Keith didn’t destroy my gun. I might be able to clean all the blood and bits of flesh out of it._ Switching his flashlight back on, he carefully navigated through the ruined building, taking the path that he knew would make the least amount of creaking planks or groaning metal. It didn’t take long for Larry to make it back to the site of his immense stupidity. Keith was beginning to calcify, he noted, glancing up, then down to the puddle of dry blood and bones. Poking through the pile of sick with the tip of his boot uncovered nothing resembling his gun. Nada. Zip. Zero.

“Guess I’ll have to do this the hard way.” He uttered with the air of informing someone of a death in the family. Larry swung his light around, spotting some shipping crates in the corner. With some considerable effort, he grabbed the straps surrounding the crate and heaved the entire thing to sit directly under the dead barnacle. With that, he set his pack in the corner, clambering to the top, before taking a deep breath and carefully reaching past the still teeth with a final thought of “ _open wide.”_

Fighting through muscle and things he didn’t want to think about, he stopped upon touching the cartilage-like material gluing the barnacle to the ceiling. Unfortunately, this left his face directly under the mouth of the creature, the rope-like tongue brushing his helmet. Fighting the urge to vomit, and praying he wasn’t hit in the face with the still slick tongue, Larry slowly began moving his hand around in the guts of the barnacle, trying to find his gun. Stopping with shock, he felt his fingers touching something distinctly hard and metallic. Quickly shoving his hand deeper, he strained, trying to find some purchase-. His fingers closed around a long cylinder. Excitement rushed through him as he pulled his hand out, exclaiming,

“I knew you weren’t-” He stared at his gun. His gun with its barrel nearly bitten through and was hanging to the grip by a thread. “…broken.” Larry finished, his voice both toneless yet defeated. Sighing, he tossed the remains away, looking back up at the barnacle.

“Keith, if I had my gun, I would shoot you. But I can’t. Because you broke it. And you’re dead anyway.” Larry relived the moment of Keith’s death. The strange woman covered in blood who had saved his life. _Alyx_ , he recalled, but her last name… _Vane? Vast? Something like that._ With a pang, he realized he had forgotten to thank her for killing Jeff.

“Oh well, doubt I’ll ever run into her again. Anyway, on with the funeral.” The half-hearted quip hung in the air like a half-empty balloon, as Larry grabbing his pack and walking away, dejection clearly visible in his stride. It didn’t take long to reach the antlion vault. Shining his light to the ground, a very morose Larry lowered himself off the catwalk, grunting as he let go and fell to the ground, stumbling as to not fall over. Glancing down, the light glistened against the rubble and antlion guts covering the ground. With slow, careful steps, he made his way to stable ground, walking through the door Alyx had emerged from a few hours ago, a large, triumphant, relieved grin visible even from where he stood.

With a pang of embarrassment, Larry silently berated himself for not exploring the lower levels of the distillery sooner. He had been very much unwilling to venture to Jeff’s level unless absolutely necessary. Not to mention the threat of antlions. Jeff was one thing, but antlions were terrifying in their own right. Not to mention there were dozens of them. The glow of the Combine force shield shone faintly against the corrugated metal of the compactor.

 _Stupid!_ Smacking his hand to his forehead, he continued to scold himself. _There was a trash compactor here the entire time! I could’ve gotten my samples and killed Jeff months ago!_ Shining his light around the room, he zeroed in on the bright yellow supply box in the corner. Running over to it, he gasped in surprise and happiness, self-inflicted disappointment forgotten. Grabbing the two gas masks in there, he beamed.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you! I haven’t seen you in months!” With the excitement of a child at a carnival, he quickly strapped one to his belt and shoved the other into his bag. His small victory dampened at the sight of the trash compactor. Slowly, quietly, with bated breath, he peered into the gaping maw, pointing his light to shine upon the carnage in the dark pit. Steel walls painted with blood and strips of flesh, spore particles floating lazily in the air bled into his vision. Unusual materials for a painter.

Looking at the floor, he could just make out the tattered remains of a CP worker uniform. Definitely Jeff. Or at least a bit of Jeff. Especially given the rapidly fading scent of ammonia and rotten eggs. Nevertheless, Larry stepped back, letting out a cough of disgust. Quickly grabbing the mask, he strapped it to his face, waiting for the filters to kick in. With the first breathe of stale air indicating the filter was working, he walked back to stand in front of the entrance of the compactor. A terrible fate indeed. Yet, a mercy at the same time. Larry didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know if he wanted to say anything to the drying puddle of blood. Pulling the bottle of alcohol out of his pocket, he held it uncertainly, staring at Jeff’s remains. A single, silent moment. Finally, Larry raised the bottle slightly.

“Well Jeff, you tried to kill me. Multiple times. Almost got me a couple times as well. Lightly put, I wouldn’t say I’m your biggest fan. But hey, you’re dead, and not walking around as a…walking mass of fungal spores.” He stepped back, pulling his mask down and uncorking the bottle.

“Here’s to you Jeff, and whoever you used to be. You were an anomaly in a sea of anomalies, and you’ll probably be the only one of your kind.” He paused.

“Hopefully. Ah well, to Jeff, a long-deserved death. Wait, that came out wrong. Somewhat. To a long-deserved release from your fungally prison.” Concluding his small, impromptu speech, Larry took a small sip from the bottle, savoring the sweet taste of the booze. Without warning, a thundering alarm began trilling, sounding as if it was coming right from his ears.

“JESUS!” Larry jumped in shock, dropping the bottle. Pushing his hand against his chest to keep his heart from leaping out, he let out a shaky breath, looking down with wide eyes towards the casualty of the surprise. As the final drops of alcohol fell from the glass shards, a pained whimper fell from his lips.

 _Always has to be the good stuff,_ he bitterly remarked in his head, lightly pushing a large shard with his boot.

Critical Breach. Standby. Standby.

The cold, resonating voice of Overwatch cut through the alarm, the faintest hint of concern just barely audible. Sensing that something was wrong (wow, great work Sherlock), he dashed outside, only to stare in shock at the vista hanging before his eyes. The massive floating ship that had appeared without warning several weeks ago was surrounded by a shimmering blue-green shield that seemed ready to fall apart.

“What is…” he let out the words almost automatically. The dull light of the moon shone upon the ship, highlighted against the starless navy sky. It also shone on the antlion plug, the strange, cool metal glinting with the hardness of diamonds. The antlion plug that she had opened. She. The blood-covered woman who killed Jeff. What had she whispered behind the hand covering her mouth? Alyx Vant? VANCE!

“Oh shit!” the expletive flying from his throat, his mind kicking into overdrive. Vance. As in Eli Vance. The head honcho. Anticitizen One. Another realization struck him.

 _She got in! **Nobody’s** gotten in since the Combine seriously clamped down on the Q!_ Back then, Larry had been in the QZ for about a year at that point and hadn’t been concerned about getting back into the city. But after a few hurried conversations with fellow scavengers (well, the ones that didn’t try to eat or kill him), he learned it had finally been locked up. Concern faintly struggled in the back of his mind, but at the time, he figured it was a problem for future him. Besides, he still had so much work to do, so he deprioritized escape, reasoning that their security would weaken with time, or he would be able to sneak through a crack in the system. But now, he finally got his hands on a sizeable amount of data. Samples, notes, photos, a couple unique specimens and toxins. Not to mention Jeff was finally dead. Thanks to Alyx Vance.

“I need to find her!” Breathless, Larry continued to the silent metal plug, dull metal glaring back at him in response. “I can get out, bring my research, find the Resistance, maybe even meet up with Ross again-” He stopped again, retracing the path he took though his mind. Alyx Vance. Daughter of Eli Vance, otherwise known as Anticitizen One. And she had appeared on the day the massive vessel in the sky was being sabotaged.

 _She’s going there,_ thinking numbly as he stared up at the ship, before the split-second decision was made. _I need to go find her. Find her, help her do whatever she’s doing, and get out of the QZ. Being chased by the Combine. Who are really pissed off. More than usual._ His train of thoughts ground to a stuttering halt, his wretched brain truly considering the implications. For a brief moment, a vicious voice in his head whispered,

“You'll never find her. And even if you do, she'll be dead. Or hunted by the Combine. If you've seen with her, they’ll kill you. What about your work? You’ll-”

“No,” he said out loud, instantly silencing the voice.

“I can help her. I will.” His voice lowering slightly, “I need to get out, and I’ll be damned just letting this chance slip away. Also, I would imagine she could use a hand going toe-to-toe with the Combine.”

With that, he took off back to the Treasure Room, pulling himself up to the catwalk with some struggle before beginning to carefully jog into the pitch-black distillery. 20 minutes later, he finally arrived, breathless and still shaking from the few times he had ran too fast and almost fell 15 meters through a ragged hole in the floor. Bursting into the room, Larry ground to a stop, heaving for breath with hands on knees as he glanced around, his thoughts running as frantically as he had been.

 _What should I take with me?_ _Should I take all of it? Or take some and come back for the rest?_ _Might not be able to get back,_ thinking as his heartrate began to slow. _But you have a plan for a situation like this, remember?_ Straightening up, he walked over to the far-right corner of the room, where a solitary filing cabinet remained. Pulling the top shelf out, he quickly grabbed the three notebooks for emergencies, which he had dubbed, “The Black Boxes.” Journals containing his most valuable research. Technically, he considered everything he had recorded in his time in the QZ vital, but this stuff was key. Especially for the Resistance. In the event of an emergency, these holy books were coming with him, no compromises. Gently sliding them into his backpack, he suddenly realized, _these might get bent, or torn if I put them in here._

Ideas raced through his head, trying to find a solution to this complication, until Larry had a lightbulb moment. Without delay, he took off to the room across from the Treasure Room, quickly searching for- _Ah-Ha! Found you!_

Picking it up, he wiped as much dust off as he could and returned to his holy books. Setting it down, he gently unclasped the latches and pulled open the briefcase with the care of a bomb diffuser. With that, he gently laid the books in, wrapping them in old newspapers he grabbed from the cabinet to cushion them. Not a great solution, but hey, work with what you got. Idea nudging into his brain, he turned to the table and grabbed the folder full of photographs and placed it in alongside the books. Triple-checking that his cargo was properly protected (at least as much as he could protect it, given the situation), he nodded, an approving hum leaving his throat.

Larry gently shut the briefcase, flipping the latches closed with a satisfied click. Reaching back into his backpack, he pulled out the coil of rope and the duct tape he had chanced upon just before he met Jeff (the stuff was a lifesaver. Literally). Covering the clasps in the tape, he then shoved the briefcase against his pack, lashing the case against the side of his pack with the rope.

 _High chance of getting shot in the back,_ grimly considering the dark but likely predictions running through his head. Those thoughts running through his head, he quickly decided to bring the volatile canisters he had carefully rigged together in case he ever needed it. The three jury-rigged surprises were gently placed into his pack, as Larry silently prayed that they wouldn’t go off right next to his spine. Finally securing his semi-dangerous load, he zipped it shut and pulled it onto his back. Dusting his trousers off, he gave one last final sweep of the room.

 _I really hope I’ll be able to come back._ Willing the moment to exist forever, Larry stood there, absorbing the dark, dusty interior. Eventually, the nagging sense of urgency crept back into his attention, and he turned away, almost unwillingly, with the strange feeling he was saying goodbye to an old friend. Standing in the doorway, he suddenly twisted around and whispered into the dark room,

“I’ll be back.” Realizing what he just did, he let out a snort.

“Did I just unintentionally quote Terminator? Where did my life go so wrong that I do that unintentionally?” With that he turned and walked out. In his mind, Larry gave his regards to the more interesting specimens he had named as he walked past them.

 _Goodbye Biff, Todd, Jennifer, Mako. I’ll miss you all._ Ignoring the voice screaming at him that he was completely psychotic, he made his way back to the ominous metal vault door set in the ground like the world’s biggest, ugliest metal jewel. After a moment of examination, testing and fiddling with the controls, Larry soon pulled the gate out of the ground with an ominous groan. Staring down into the depths, he noted the faint orange glow of antlion growths. And remains. Larry sighed.

“I really never thought I would want to be the last guest to the party.” He lowered himself into the darkness. He refused to look back.


	2. Last Guest

“Doesn’t seem like anyone’s home,” the quiet whisper was drowned out by the electronic screeching of animals overlaid with a Russian announcer describing the ravaged exhibits Larry passed, a grimace distorting his expression at the shattered glass and crumpled corpses of both antlions and Combine soldiers.

 _Looks like I’m right. Everyone’s headed toward the ship._ Pondering this, he pushed his way through a supply closet, noticing the nearly calcified remains of barnacles in the ceiling. _Even the antlions for some reason. Wonder why. Gotta keep my guard up._ Bodies and blood flowed past him, gory ghosts watching his journey. He was making remarkably good time, considering he was in unexplored territory (who willingly walks into antlion nests?) He drew a blank on possible mental patients before realizing, _well, I guess me. And Vance._ Gunfire and angry chitters echoed in the distance, a helpful reminder of where he was, as if the antlion growths and Xen fauna could possibly make him forget. He walked on, warily passing antlion and zombie corpses and gore-covered battlefields for what he guessed was a couple hours.

Eventually, he found himself walking out of the zoo through a sewer, without ever running into a single person. Or alien. For some reason this unnerved him, more than if he was staring down at a hundred antlions. Walking across the dry concrete and cool cables, he spotted a ladder leading up to a manhole, moonlight spilling into the dark tunnel. With a sigh of relief, Larry strode over to it and began his short ascent. Within 30 seconds he managed to clamber his way out into the now quiet night. Crouching down to the ground, he slowly caught his breath. Running around the QZ for four years had helped keep him in shape, but the lack of quality food had hindered his well-being. And stress. Stress was a good candidate for being the reason behind his poor health. Straightening up, he surveyed the area he had emerged into. Shipping containers and construction supplies lay haphazardly across the rubble. Thick cables emerged from dark corners, all leading to-

“Oh, Jesus!” With a startled yelp, Larry dove into the gravel behind a stack of concrete powder. A Combine street barricade had glared at him less than 20 meters away. And they were never unmanned. Fingers scrambling for a gun he no longer had, he desperately tried to think of a way to escape until-. _Wait,_ he realized. _The gate’s open. They never leave them open._ Twisting around, he carefully craned his head around the dusty bags to stare at the barricade. The gate was open. And a blood covered Combine soldier lay crumpled against the gravel. A rather grim peace offering. Quickly glancing around, he saw no signs of life. _Well, looks safe enough,_ he reasoned with himself. _But I better not get careless._ Hesitantly standing up, half expecting a bullet to fly into his face, Larry slowly walked toward the gate to stand over the soldier. Bullets had punched holes into the body’s torso and arm, and the kill shot was a clean hole drilled through the left eye of the deathly white mask.

“Alright,” he murmured, cautiously optimistic. “Did a young woman covered in blood kill you, or did someone else do you in?” The body, naturally (he couldn’t believe he was also thinking thankfully), said nothing, so with a concerned shrug, Larry hesitantly stepped through the open gates, dropping down to the ground below. Worry knotted his eyebrows as he glanced around at the glowing antlion nests coating large sections of the construction yard he was passing through. _I wonder how close I am_. Glancing up, Larry’s mouth formed a perfect “O”. The dark sky was half obscured by the floating vessel, and the front of the behemoth lay nearly above him.

“Oh,” blankly uttering with the tone someone receiving unfortunate but expected news. A resounding boom shook through the air, rattling his eyes around his head like dice. Clapping his hands to his ears, his gaze shot to the shield tower. At the top of the distant fortification, a brilliant blue beam of energy cut through the air, convalescing upon the underbelly of the ship. The shield faded out of existence, as a sphere of unstable energy blossomed at the end of the laser, faintly cracking through the charged sky, growing larger by the second. With just enough time to think, _oh no,_ he witnessed the collapse of dark energy, drawing into itself with a suddenly silent implosion. About-facing with enough speed to generate severe whiplash, the silent core erupted into a massive disk of green energy expanding straight for him. Gasping, Larry couldn’t react as the cold particles washed over his skin, leaving his hair on end.

With the groan of a dying animal, the ship slowly plummeted to Earth, a large “wing,” if you could call it that, breaking off and falling through an apartment complex. Falling. Looking back up, Larry silently stared in horror at the massive bow of the ship hurdling towards him at a surprisingly slower speed than he thought was possible. Probably the adrenaline quickening his reactions, yes, that was it. No time to yell. Pivoting sharply on the rocky terrain, he sprinted back for the fortification, scrambling up the wall and diving for the side to frantically crawling against the cold, slick metal. Brace position barely achieved. The earth jumped, a roaring shockwave shooting through the gates with the heat and fire of hell. A hot wind shoved him away from the wall. White. Black.

Waking up with dirt in your mouth and fire in your nose was, surprise, surprise, not a pleasant experience. Larry stirred, a weak cough forcing itself from his dusty lungs. Cracking open an eyelid, scattered chunks of concrete greeted him, strewn about haphazardly across his dim gaze. With another small cough, he felt senses return to him. Fire. Close. Close fire. He tried to find his arm, but it seemed to have disappeared. _Oh, there it is. Ow._ Said arm appeared to have been pinned under his body, plagued by rather persistent needles. The sensation continued across his entire body, feeling as if it had been dropped from a large height. With a hoarse grunt, Larry painstakingly pulled his arm out from under him and heaved himself to lay on his back. Smoke rose into the night sky, highlighted with flickers of light.

Another cough fell out of his mouth as he rotated his head left. Crates appeared to have been torn apart or thrown about. Immediately next to him lay a considerable amount of concrete powder, spilling from several ruptured bags. Focusing his gaze, his backpack was slowly made visible as the smoke parted as if it was a curtain. It seemed undamaged from where he lay. But no briefcase. With considerable effort, Larry rolled his head to his right to greet an uncomfortable sight. The ship’s sharp bow glared down upon his still body, almost directly above him. Less than 100 meters away, possibly only 50 above him. Teal mist hung in drapes around the lower edge of the ship, strange flares of light brightening the clouds for an instant before darkening once more.

The fragility of his own mortality struck him as never before. He almost died. And there would have been nothing to do about it. Attempting to shove away the rising panic, Larry forced his eyes away from the daunting hull, studying the barricade he had barely managed to take shelter behind. The metal had been blown inward like tissue paper, warping and twisting in strange rivers of sludge, struggling to remain upright of its own accord. And laying on the ground in front of it-

“C-case,” Rasping out his discovery, Larry gingerly moved all of his limbs, hoping to not discover a broken leg or cracked spine. Luckily, although he was in a considerable amount of pain, his limbs seemed intact. The hammer pounding on his temple felt like it was the only major injury. Larry slowly pushed his torso upright with a groan, noticing something falling from his head to the ground with a thud. With a glance, he identified it as a ragged piece of Combine steel. Slowly, with measured movements, the helmet was removed, to be placed gently in his lap to be examined.

 _Ah. Yes_. That was somewhat of a problem. Two of the spines he had spent hours welding onto the helmet had been snapped off, and another three pointed in various directions. Turning it around, the source of his splitting migraine was discovered. Grasping the shrapnel in his hand, Larry twisted it around several times. Upon determining the correct orientation, he haltingly slotted it into the corresponding crater in the helmet. Staring at it, he tugged out the shrapnel and tossed it away. An intense sense of urgency began to flood through his bruised veins, quickening his movements as he rose to his feet, wincing at the cries of protest from his muscles. Staggering over to the dust-covered case, he settled upon his knees, quickly examining for wounds. The voice returned, only slightly startling him this time.

Response Code: Shield. Key. Migrate.

Moving quickly, Larry determined the briefcase to be unharmed, straightening up as the voice continued, somehow sounding both robotic and harried at the same time.

Alert. Response team, Overload Protocol. Angle. Cauterize. Flash.

A moment of silence amidst the burning rubble.

Angle. Cauterize. Flash.

With slow, careful steps he navigated the rubble back to his backpack. Said pack was forced open as he rummaged around in for a moment before pulling out a med-vial and shoving it into his leg. Sighing at the cool, but slightly nauseating liquid, Larry pulled out the empty syringe and tossed it away, throwing another anxious glance toward the fallen ship. Seemed stable, or at least it probably wouldn’t fall on top of him without warning. Diving back into the supplies tossed around like leaves in a hurricane within the confines of his bag, he gingerly pulled out the three canisters, praying they wouldn’t go off in his hands. With a surgeon’s eye he nervously examined the surfaces of the canisters for cracks. One by one, all were deemed unharmed. A silent cheer filled his head as he gently placed them back among the various knickknacks stuffed in his backpack.

With a quick yank, the zipper was pulled home and the briefcase strapped on once more. Standing up as he slung his pack back into its rightful place, Larry stared toward the fallen monolith, contemplating just how lucky he had been. _Twenty more meters and I would be in the same position as Jeff._ With a rough shake of his head, he began to approach the ship, carefully navigating the piles of flaming debris. _Think about just how close you came to being a stain on the ground later, when you can have a proper breakdown. There’s no doubt Alyx brought the ship down…somehow. So, she’s still alive…probably…maybe … hopefully._

Glancing forward, he looked toward the tower that had caused all this destruction. The tower which seemed to be sagging over, seemingly in the middle of tripping over a boulder. _Need to get to the back,_ he mused, pushing his way between crushed cars and torn shipping crates. _She’ll be somewhere around there. If she’s still alive. Well, even if she’s dead, I’ll still find her. Unless she’s buried under the ship. Or captured by the Combine. Damnit Larry, stop thinking pessimistically! It’s gonna come back to bite you._

Mentally kicking himself, Larry quickly found himself directly under the belly of the beast. Which was very strange. As to be expected, he gazed at torn metal panels, cut wires, and bend antenna. The stranger thing was the green light seemingly emitting from nowhere. And the rocks floating toward the ship were definitely unexpected. Baffled, he quickly turned away and continued his ascent. _The ship itself used to float; rocks are nothing._ Crouching under the fallen doorway of an apartment room, Larry reversed direction with a gasp, scrambling to hide against a wall. _Strider._ Heart just about breaking a rib or two, Larry snuck an anxious peek under the doorway.

The strider…had been crushed under a massive pillar of cracked concrete. And one of its limbs had been torn off between its insect-like body and spindly knee. With slow, steady movements he crept back into the open, unblinking as he frantically whispered in his pounding head, _pleasebedeadpleasebedeadpleasebedead._ Upon standing a good 20 meters away to get a better look, the weaponized creature was even bigger and uglier than he had imagined. A thick, tan, cracked carapace covered the creature’s head. The signature pulse gun on its underbelly had been bent, he noticed as he leaned around to get a better look at it. And the rumored warp cannon was missing. Still, Larry took care to not step in front of the once-towering machine, gingerly passing the broken synth with bated breath. He maintained his painstakingly slow pace until a somewhat intact stairwell entered his vision.

Reaching the foot of the crumbling steps, he silently ascended to the next flight before letting out his breath, body shaking like a leaf. _I am never getting that close to a strider again, even if it’s dead,_ silently vowing, despite the dense ball of dread settling in his stomach saying he would break his vow very soon, considering the circumstances. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he took in the path before him. Rubble. More rubble. Rubble upon rubble. _This place really has been decimated._ Readjusting his pack, and double checking his boots (you never know if you unwittingly caught a nail in there until later when it is driven into your foot), Larry set off on his quest through the recently renovated wasteland. Several hours passed (probably minutes, but it sure felt like hours) as he maneuvered his way past the increasing amounts of fires, exposed rebar, and random pitfalls into darkness, muttering obscenities all the way. Ducking under a fallen pipe, he froze upon hearing the distinct garbled voices of Combine soldiers. They were almost close enough to make out. Remaining still, Larry waited for the voices to die down, then slowly crept forward. He seemed to be in what used to be a parking garage. Spotting two figures in the distance, he scurried to hide against a rusted car. Carefully peeking around the corner, he could just make out the voices of the jump-suited soldiers.

“…mage assessment? 100%. Complete structural collapse. No sign of Anti-Citizen Four.” The figure pulled its arm away from its head, turning to its partner.

“Any luck?” The other soldier replied with a grunt, “Nope. Pretty sure it was crushed by a rock. You know, from the massive floating ship that fell on top of us.” “Oh, can it,” the first soldier retorted. “We’re alive, and that’s more than can be said about the others.” Gesturing wildly with one arm, the one sitting down shot back with,

“Oh, ok, that’s great. Fine. But in case you forgot, **I** have a broken arm, **you** lost your gun, **and** this whole place could fall on top of us at any moment.” He paused. “Not to mention the tiny detail that we still haven’t found Anti-Citizen Four.” The weaponless soldier waved a hand dismissively.

“She’s dead. She was practically underneath it when it came down. And if she isn’t, we’ll find her.” Broken-arm soldier barked out a laugh that sounded like it was being broadcast from two radios held together.

“You’re delusional. She’s alive. You know why? Because she single-handedly tore down a level six megastructure. LEVEL SIX! You know what’s level ten? The Citadel! And Overwatch…” The pair continued to bicker as their voices faded, Larry’s footsteps soon the only sound within the small maintenance tunnel he slowly traversed. _They haven’t found her yet. So, Overwatch is scrambling, which means one of two things. They’ll get sloppy. Or they’ll get angry. Or both._

Having no wish to be facing the hornet’s nest, he quickened his pace, now well out of earshot of the disarrayed soldiers. The corridor stretched forward, pale lights lining the corridor weakly illuminating the wreckage hindering his progress. Approaching a corner, he turned, before jerking to a halt with a startled gasp. The hallway had been torn away, opening to a vast field of collapsed apartments and burning debris. Blue-green light glared down on the destruction through the smog infecting the air, with a distinct pillar of light shining from the ship. The underbelly of the ship lay above him, sheer grey metal towering into the sky. Squinting his eyes, Larry could make out more rubble orbiting the ship. It was…strange, to say the least.

Rocks and bits of debris lazily orbited around the glowing lights and limp cables. He watched a fridge door fly upward at a tremendous velocity, gluing itself to the ship’s underbelly. Wood and concrete whipped crazily through the air, snapping back and forth like a rubber band between earth and sky. Some were able to escape, thrown out of orbit to fall back to the ground, but others were yanked into the sky. Slack-jawed, he stared at the 1960s-alien-abduction-movie homage. _Wish I had a camera._ Glancing around, he noticed a blue shield peeking towards him through the peeling wallpaper that had been ripped apart. With a determined nod, he set off for the shield, carefully squeezing past the splinters and rebar that scratched and prodded at him. Silent curses in his wake, he finally popped out between the side of a van and a pile of rubble, finding himself in a small clearing, an artillery cannon planted into the more-stable ground.

With wary glances, he stepped up to the cannon, fingers inching towards the triggers, because, seriously, who doesn’t want to shoot an artillery cannon? _Alright, how can I use you?_ A small clank forced his eyes to the ground. A spent shell fell off the platform, landing among a pile of its brethren, smoke still faintly rising from the dull metal. With a jolt, Larry took a closer look at the ground. Several empty med-vials lay scattered around the gun. Turning, he goggled at the van behind the gun. Splatters of blood surrounded golf-ball sized holes bent the metal, smoke emanating from the dark pits. _What the hell…?_ With wonder in his eyes, he turned back to reconsider the cannon. _Alyx must’ve been here. Combine wouldn’t shoot at their own ship. But…_

“What was attacking you,” the murmur unanswered as he witnessed clusters of concrete swirling around the beam of light, a miniature tornado. Stepping off the raised platform, he walked over to peer into the cavernous trench laying in front of him. Carefully walking to the edge, Larry looked down. Then wished he didn’t. _Strider._ The still-smoking remains gazed back, the broken form splayed out like a puppet with its strings cut. He could just make out the bowling-ball-sized craters pocketing the creatures head. A small gulp was his only audible reaction as he slowly backed away from the edge, confusion, fear, and amazement chasing one another around in his thoughts. Once again standing next to the cannon, he finally let his breathe out. _Strider. She killed a Strider. Is there nothing this woman can’t do?_

His numb thoughts were quickly shelved for evaluation at a later date as he stared back to the column of green light bound to the underbelly of the unholy behemoth, more imperative questions to be answered. _Is she in there? Will she come out? Should I wait here. Maybe not as pressing, but what are you looking-_. A dull boom interrupted his speculation, his eyes snapping to the ship. A pause. Another followed, a bit deeper. An urgent feeling that history was about to repeat itself, Larry scrambled behind the energy shield of the emplacement cannon, holding his ears for the promptly approaching explosion. Short, popping thuds followed his footsteps. The light pulsed brightly for an instant, before a faint flicker could just be made out. Terrified eyes shot to the miniature moons orbiting the ship, seeming to shudder, almost as if cold. An ear-deafening alarm went off, leaving him thankful he had the foresight to cover them. It erupted again, only to be replaced.

Warning. System sabotage. Containment breach. Overload code: Crash. Mutilate. Silence. 

Larry had no clue what that stood for, but he was definitely in hot water. Scratch that, more like boiling water. _Containment breach?_ The thought barely crossed his mind before the ship gave off a much denser boom, before seeming to rattle. Green arcs of electricity began flaring up all over the surface of the ship. Something whizzed under the shield, just missing his boot as it glanced off the metal platform, only to smack into the concrete rubble. Tearing himself around, his eyes wondering for a moment, quickly spotting it among the cracked rocks.

A jolt of recognition shot through him. _That’s her gun,_ Larry stared at the heavily modified 1911, shock interweaved between his scattered thoughts. _How did-_ Something clattered against the ground next to him. His eyes darted over. Some kind of electrical device- “Oh!” he realized, remembering the small gadget being clipped to her belt. _Wait-_ A dull thud swiveled his gaze around, just in time to see a Combine pulse rifle bounce off the shield and spin to the ground. Tearing his eyes upward, he watched more and more debris shoot away from the now strongly pulsing beam of light and different speeds. Rats fleeing from a sinking ship. A small meteorite shower descended upon him, clattering upon the ground or pinging off the shield.

 _Alright Vance now would be a really good time to get out so we can bounce this joint_ , his anxious hands **still** grabbing for his holster. He would later reflect that Someone had heard him. Whether they were helping him or mocking him was up to interpretation. A small movement in the corner of his eye, caught his attention, dragging his gaze to a dark blur falling from the ship, pinwheeling through the slowly dimming pillar of light as its movements slowed, caught like a fish in the abnormal gravity. Squinting, Larry tried to make out what it was.

“Oh God,” he murmured with a jarring realization. _That’s a person!_ As they floated toward the ground, more and more features became clear. His mouth dropped open with an unintentional,

“Oh Jesus!” followed quickly by, “Alyx! Alyx Vance!” Shouting, he sprinted toward the tractor beam, waving his arms like a madman, and panic in his veins as he desperately thought, _What the hell happened in there?_ A series of unfortunate events actualized. A large panel of metal fell from the ship in a flurry of sparks. Falling toward the ground, it failed to escape the notice of the pillar, and unwilling to let anything by, the panel was pulled into the beam with more force than should have constituted. Naturally, it happened to shove Alyx out of the beam with the weight of a linebacker.

“OH SHIT!” Larry sprinted for her crumpled form, horrible thoughts trying to break into his mind. Sliding through the gravel, he quickly reached for her neck. A pulse. Slow, but there. He let out a sigh of relief. Quickly evaluating her body, he saw no broken legs or-

“That’s not supposed to bend that way.” Larry grimaced at the sight of her crooked forearm, yanking his pack open. Shuffling around, his fingers closed around the cold metal and plastic, and with a triumphant yank, he pulled it out with the flair of a magician and his rabbit, jamming it into her arm right above the break. A small beep caught his attention, even as he quickly grabbed materials for a splint. A strange set of gloves covered her hands, woven with wires and small strips of metal and other miscellaneous components. An LED showed two small red hearts, flashing weakly, one slowly growing larger in size. His gaze lowered to her palms, her fingers red with burn blisters, the palm of her glove badly charred as if she had stuck her hand in a fire.

 _Jesus, what the hell did you do?!_ The question hung unanswered in the air, whilst he grabbed another med-vial and jammed it into her neck. With that out of the way, his hands worked in small, quick, precise movements, rolling her hands in the small amount of burn cream he had on his person and wrapping them in gauze. He worked diligently, occasionally glancing up to the ship, a paranoid frown deepening the lines on his face. After a few minutes, he finally got her arm straightened with a nasty-sounding _crunch_ , tying it to a wooden splint he had snagged from the ground. Not the most hygienic, but hey, work with what you got and all that jazz.

Wiping his filthy hands on his equally filthy clothes, he scrutinized her, finally having a moment to see her beyond her injuries. All things considered, he had a strong suspicion Alyx had been to hell and back. Coated in even more blood than when he last saw her, and with the faintly glowing strings of antlion guts hanging off her torso and limbs, she could easily be the world’s best trick-or-treater. Bullet holes peppered her clothes, revealing red, newly healed skin underneath with faint green tracks; a tell-tale sign of Xen fluid. Letting out a grunt of concern, Larry glanced back up to the ship.

“Alright, time to get going.” Overwatch responded.

Warning. Surge inbound. Restrain. Restrain.

With that, the lights winked out. Well, all the lights on the ship, he could still see the moon and fire. All the debris orbiting the ship flopped to the ground with soft clatters of stone colliding, stripped of their levitation. For a moment, all was silent, save for the crackling fires and the small scattering of pebbles against the ground. Then he heard it. A deep, guttural thrum filled with power rattled his eyes within their sockets, growing stronger by the second. Squeezing his eyes shut, Larry tensed, expecting fire and metal to fly into his body. The oscillations grew quicker and quicker, approaching a crescendo. Abruptly, it stopped. Cracking an eye open, he peeped at the dark shadow looming over his trembling body. The pulses resumed, slower, less guttural, but just as threatening. It now felt like a low-powered turbine, yet Larry could feel in his bones the rage the ship was containing, the call to erupt boiling under the surface, straining to discharge. Looking down, he stared at Alyx, who was still unconscious, but thankfully the ground wasn’t threatening to split and fall into the canyon before him.

Immediate security. Emergency protocol Blackout initiated. Emergency conduits on route. Reinforcements inbound.

His skin prickled, hair rising somehow even higher. _We need to run!_ Desperation engulfed his entire being. Shooting his eyes around, trying to find a path through the ruined mountain of rubble and scrap. A sharp crack of steel drew his attention to the drunkenly leaning APC remains, a small grate breaking away revealing a small clearing just beyond, highlighted by the fires throwing sharp shadows against the ruin. Larry quickly snatched the handgun and the ( _EMP_?), throwing both into Alyx’s slightly charred and ragged backpack, before the glint of black metal caught his gaze. Staring down at the SMG, he could’ve sworn it was looking back at him.

“Well, worth a shot,” he muttered, crouching down apprehensively, hand reaching for the grip. A quick breath in, and he gingerly touched the handle, expecting the small shock it gave an unbonded person. Not terrible, but within five seconds the voltage would rise to lethal levels. He made contact. No reaction. Nothing. Not even a spark. Opening an eye, he slowly drew his hand to surround the handle, slowly raising it off the ground. Still no deadly shock. With growing hope, he pointed the gun to the ground and squeezed the trigger sharply. Two thrums shook the air, as the orange-white energy shells buried themselves harmlessly into the loose gravel. _Oh, thank God,_ a sigh of relief escaped his lips. Another alarm sounded, this one much farther off in the distance for some reason. Larry carefully shook her non-injured shoulder.

“Alyx. Hey, Alyx. Alyx Vance. You with me?” Her slack head answered for her, all tension cut loose, dead to the world but for the faint rise and fall of her chest. “Dammit. Expected that, but still.” Faint iron wings beat in the distance, forcing Larry to jerk around to face the noise, his heart dropping to his boots. Letting out another swear that would make a sailor blush, he grabbed one of the canisters of Xenian gas out of the side of his bag, pressing the first release. Thick gases merged together, swirling around one another within the stained metal faintly hissing, beginning the arm time.

“Need to time this right,” the strained comment made to an uncaring Alyx, recalling his experiments with the highly responsive chemical. The thrum of the helicopter was growing closer, and he was almost positive he could hear more approaching. Staring down at her, he cobbled together a somewhat-decent plan. Grabbing the mask from his pack, he strapped it to Alyx’s face with some difficulty before repeating the process himself. _Should I try to use that?_ The thought knocked at his mind as he glanced at the cannon out of the corner of his eye. Shaking his head, Larry continued pulling his pack closed. _Too risky, all they would have to do is fly behind it._ Finally pulling his pack back on, he strapped it in with a plastic **click**. _I really hope I don’t die_. Running up to the gun, he was able to catch the helicopter swoop down from the sky, a powerful spotlight carving a path across the ground. Surprisingly steady hands pulled the final pin, letting go the handle of the homemade grenade. With that, he had just enough time to say to himself, _this is so stupid_. He waved his arms around, muffled yelling soaking the sky.

The spotlight swept toward him. _Five…four_ …The pulse cannon began revving up. _Three…_ Larry tossed the now intensely hissing canister toward the general direction of the hunter-chopper, diving behind the shield. And with that, the canister flew apart in a silent detonation. Well, if silent counted as the sound of a heavy book being dropped from a sizable height. But despite the lack of noise and sparkle, the Xen gas made up for in sheer power. Thick brown spores burst through the sky, rapidly expanding and thickening, forming a dense, impenetrable cloud of semi-sentient fungi. Larry heard the chopper fall away, the blades somehow barely making a dent in the cloud. Rapidly, he knelt down and grabbed Alyx, still dead to the world.

“Sorry about this,” the apology unheard as he grabbed her unbroken arm and legs, hoisting her onto his shoulders with a grunt, tears streaming from his eyes due to the gas, feeling his face burning as if he had eaten a red-hot pepper. Shouldering Alyx in a fireman’s carry, he grunted, nearly falling over before crouching down to regain his balance. Once relatively stable, he carefully straightened, suddenly realizing it was easier than he had expected. He probably couldn’t run though (he had a sneaking suspicion that this could change given proper motivation).

Nevertheless, he began carefully picking his way through the smog, barely able to see anything. _I’ve made a huge mistake_ , realizing with growing horror, stomach now doing triple backflips. The smog barely let light through, which made walking through the wreckage a nightmare. Not to mention he was carrying a person and at least 30 kilograms of supplies. It would be a miracle if he didn’t completely face-plant straight into broken glass. His light helped some, but not enough. And the fires had been completely smothered by the gas, leaving him with no frame of reference. Despite all this, he pressed on, coughing through the mask from his burning eyes, each breath of air diminishing in volume at an increasingly fast rate. Broken cars, crumbling walls, the occasional dead soldier or zombie, all seemed to float by as he stumbled across the bitterly fragmented ground, dark ghosts in the wind. After both a decade and a second, a set of stairs appeared through the smoke, and Larry was able to gratefully ascend from the disaster. As he reached the top of the cracked and soot-covered stairs, stars flashed before his dry eyes. _Seems to be clearing up, thank God_.

Upon once again hearing the hunter-chopper in the distance, his optimism shriveled away like a ridiculed comedian slinking off-stage in shame. He could hear at least two more of its brethren accompanying the first. He pushed himself harder, the screaming in his lungs being pierced barely held back by the fear of being caught. Scrambling between tilted apartments and chunks of roofing, apprehension and downright terror rolled over his mind like a storm. _Need to get out of here_. The cold, hard truth stared Larry in his face, daring him to say otherwise. _They’ll catch us in a matter of minutes at this rate._ For the briefest instant, the thought of dropping Alyx and taking off slipped through the cracks into his mind. Quickly banishing the thought, he glared ahead, creating and scrapping plans by the second. As if revealing the solution to his increasingly dire dilemma, a strong gust of wind blew away the now-transparent smoke. An exposed sewer drain lay before him, the ceiling and part of the wall collapsed inward. Xen fauna floated and flashed dreamily along the slick, overgrown walls, without a care in the world. Letting out a quiet,

“Yes!” Larry gratefully tromped toward it, before stopping, a cold, hard realization settling into his mind. _If they find this, they’ll know we took off down there. It’s the perfect escape route._ Briefly considering finding another way, the constant humming of approaching iron wings dissuaded him. Plans formed and fell apart as easily as quicksilver, but one struck him as potentially viable.

“Alright,” the whisper let out with a faint stutter. “This is insane, and stupid, and I’m probably gonna die.” Hoisting Alyx back up with another grunt, he carefully descended down the pile of rubble, quickly standing upon the cracked bricks, staring into the darkness ahead. Praying there were no zombies, headcrabs, or antlions around to eat her brain out, Larry carefully slung Alyx off his back, laying her on a small section of somewhat dry bricks. Once laid upon the disgusting-smelling ground, he slung off his pack, no time to relax. Tearing it open, he scrambled for the key ingredient for his hastily assembled plan. Carefully, the only frag grenade he carried on his person for emergencies was pulled out and strapped to his belt. A thought struck him, realizing they might need to put some distance between the entrance for what he was about to do. With a sigh, he grabbed Alyx by the shoulders, and began dragging her limp body further into the darkness of the sewer.

“Holy God how are you so heavy?” the complaints barely audible through between his heaves. He shuffled backwards, allowing himself this one chance to voice his indignation, before seeing the entrance barely visible. Satisfied with the distance he had put between the sleeping witness and the unauthorized emergency demolition, he walked back to the mouth of the tunnel, hands on hips. Strapping his backpack on, he unclipped the frag grenade, hefting it as he examined the walls and roof with a critical eye, mentally evaluating the structural integrity of the tunnel. Knowing time was against them, Larry redoubled his efforts, eyes darting around before landing on a thick patch of Xen moss upon the opposite wall of the cave-in. Striding over, he quickly scooped away the blue-brown growth, ignoring the vile squelching left in his wake. Once a suitable hole was cleared away, he brought the grenade up, gently nestling it against the cracked brick and mortar. _Don’t screw this up don’t screw this up don’t screw this up._ The phrase playing frantically on loop as he reached for the yellow ball of carnage. Hovering his thumb over the trigger, he waited a moment before slamming it down, ignoring the now red and beeping ball as he tore into the darkness, not looking back. The beeping grew quicker and quicker, a countdown to disaster. Whose destruction, he wasn’t sure.

The bubble popped.

Hot wind pushed Larry forward, almost tripping him over as the explosion reverberated down the tunnel. Risking a glance, he screeched to a halt in disbelief, before outrage began consuming him. The entrance remained. Sure, all the alien plants had been blown apart or scorched to cinders within a two-meter radius, but still the tunnel stood. Staring at his crumbled plan, he was filled with an unbelievably strong sense of anger, coupled with a growing sense of embarrassment, despite the lack of an audience. He stalked back to the scorched blast zone, blatantly affronted as he shouted at the unresponsive wall.

“You had one job!” Incoherently gesturing, he tried and failed to properly illustrate his indignation.

“I wasted a perfectly good grenade on you! The one, I repeat, the ONE TIME I need Russian engineering to fail on me, is the ONE TIME IT DOESN’T! GODDAMMIT!” Letting out a yell of frustration, he slammed his foot into the cracked bricks, a holler of pain immediately accompanying the ill-advised action. Grabbing for his foot, Larry almost missed the large crack emerge from the point of impact. He froze, watching more cracks follow the first as a low rumble grew in strength. Swearing profusely, he spun on his heel and sprinted back down the tunnel. The rumbling transformed into a thundering roar, concrete clattering and crumbling to the ground. Small _dints_ made him risk a glance upward, witnessing pebbles and dust shaking loose from the curved ceiling. Another curse, his speed was doubled. Faster and faster, until he became aware of the sound of rocks falling to the ground was slowing, and the tunnel itself was no longer shaking. Slowing, Larry flashed a glance backwards, seeing the carnage had finally subsided. A significant chunk of the tunnel had collapsed inward, forming a jagged ramp of debris to the dusty ceiling. The faint shine of the moon was no longer visible. They were completely cut off from the outside world. Slowing to a halt, he stared down at the wreckage he unintentionally caused, he uttered,

“That was some Looney Tunes bullshit if ever I’ve seen it.” With that, and another glance upward, he strode back to the unmoving figure he had hastily deposited up ahead, his heartrate finally getting a chance to slow. Quickly standing before Alyx, he wearily strapped his backpack on, taking another sharper look down the abandoned sewer. Completely infested, and dark but for a few faint blue service lights that threatened to die, flickering as they were, as well as the faint sheen of Xen eyestalks along the damp bricks. Completely resigned to his fate, Larry switched his flashlight back on. _Should I leave the mask on?_ The thought came to him unprovoked, and he pondered the question for a minute before shaking his head. _Probably won’t need it. Besides, don’t want to waste the filter._ Grabbing the mask, he pulled it to hang around his neck, repeating the process with Alyx, worryingly still unconscious. Letting out another groan of pain, he shouldered her once more and stared into the darkness, the final part of the escape plan, and the one with the most unknowns. Get as far the hell away from ground zero as possible. And try not to get captured. Or die. Preferably dying if he had to pick between the two.

“Once more unto the breach,” the iconic quote was spoken to the unseeing tunnel with a sardonic voice. “Whoever said that was a dumbass.” Shouldering his load, Larry took a deep breath and plunged into the cavernous void ahead.


	3. The Pigeonhole

By his estimate he had been walking for several hours at this point. Although, he reasoned, he was probably severely overestimating, given how exhausted he was. Tendons flaming in agony had forced his journey to a mere crawl. It didn’t help that he hadn’t slept in…possibly 30 hours.

“Gotta find a place to hold up,” half to Alyx, still sagging heavily on his shoulders, and the dim drainage pipe. Fortunately, or probably unfortunately, the Xen wildlife was growing denser. It was a miracle he hadn’t yet run into headcrabs or zombies. “Still holding on?” The question was directed to Alyx, expectedly silent. Still dead to the world, minus a couple mumbled words here and there. The first time she spoke (well, mumbled), Larry had jumped quite badly, close to falling over. Slurred, and quiet as a mouse, but he heard her say something about…a nudge? With no clue as to what she was on about, he put it aside, slightly pleased that she wasn’t completely brain-dead. Alyx only muttered a few more times since, most of them something about her dad, and once, a slightly pained,

“…wanna go home.” Larry silently agreed with the sentiment. But that would never truly be possible, at least for him. Albany had been completely destroyed after the Seven Hour War, along with most of North America. At least, that was what the rumors said. Back in the main part of the city, there had been whispered conversations, frantic remarks passing by one another. America had been completely overrun by Xen, they said with wide eyes and almost disbelieving tones. And what hadn’t been infested had been bombarded by the Combine, supposedly cracking the North American tectonic plate in two. Larry was desperate to hope this was untrue, or at least, highly overexaggerated. Considering the times, people were more scared and willing to make the worst of things than ever before. Yet, also considering the times, the rumors had a high likelihood of been close to accurate.

Sighing, he glanced around again, examining the slimy walls for any changes beyond locked service doors or random pitfalls with highly concerning noises emanating from the dark depths. Something caught his eye, and he glanced over, only to do a double take with a slightly surprised squawk. Another service door with an absurdly large padlock keeping it closed stood there, but there was a catch. A small section of the infestation had been scrapped away right next to the rusting metal, hastily and poorly done, but exposed concrete, nonetheless. Walking over to it, he slowly raised a hand to brush away creeping vines, gazing into the dirty, faded orange spray paint, layered over the concrete with a shaking hand. The lambda of the Resistance. A faint glimmer of hope shone down upon him. Looking over to the lock, he reached a hand towards it, wondering if he would have to bash it apart with a rock. The lock had other plans, falling apart with a small clatter of bits and pieces of metal falling to the cracked bricks under his feet.

Gaping at it, Larry thanked the Big Man upstairs, reaching out to pull the handle toward him. A horrible shriek rang out, the door dragging its feet against the rough ground in sharp, three-inch jerks. A grimace adorning his face he wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist before readjusting his grip, now yanking with as much force as he was able to with a 60-kilogram person draped across his back. Several more ear-torturing shrieks later, the door finally stood ajar, fighting every step of the way. Stairs lay behind the door, steeply ascending to an unknown height. Another sigh emerged from his dusty, cracked lips. Cracking his neck left and right, he began the laborious climb, quickly feeling the burns across his body triple in intensity. Almost about to stop, a faint light shone from above, giving Larry the final-sprint motivation to keep moving. Up and up he climbed, the light growing stronger and stronger. Gasping for air, he finally reached a landing. About to fall over, a raven cawed in the distance. Eyes shooting up, he made out his surroundings.

He was standing on a circular metal walkway, encompassing a deep well extending into the darkness. Above his head stood the dark sky, faint traces of purple barely visible. Pre-dawn. Larry grinned, somewhat reinvigorated by the fresh air. Upon glancing to his left, he became almost completely revived. Saferoom. _Yes!_ He walked into the open doorway, swinging his gaze from corner to corner A small rectangular room greeted him, dim yellow lights illuminating the stone walls with a soft glow. Several semi-clean (meaning they weren’t covered in mold, for once) mattresses lined a wall. Across from them, a small shelf housed several cans of food and bottles of water, a few empty ones lying beside a small soot-coated portable stove. The rooms final adornments were several supply crates shoved into a pile in the far corner.

Letting out a groan of relief, Larry gratefully deposited Alyx’s still-comatose body upon a mat. Another followed as he near-carelessly shrugged off his backpack, reaching to the ceiling with a grunt of pain as his back let out several ugly pops. Still swinging his arms around their full motions, Larry limped back down the steps to the door, shoving it closed with his entire body, the process accelerated a considerable amount. His boots scraped quietly against the dusty brick and concrete as he returned, reaching the landing out of breath as he placed his hands on his trembling knees to greedily gulp the fresh breeze. Still panting, he straightened and gazed into the sky. Streaks of pink shone through the dull clouds. Almost sunrise. Feeling much more refreshed, he turned and walked back into the room. Food and water first, then sleep. _If anything comes by, the door will wake me up_.

Reaching for a can of beans, Larry was jolted to a halt at the sharp crackle of static. Whipping his head around, he frantically looked around for the soldier. _They found us how did they find us I made sure they couldn’t_ -A sharp glance to Alyx settled his distress, another squeal of chatter coming from the small headset he had noticed before but paid little attention to. More violent problems demanded his utmost attention. Slowly walking up to Alyx, he listened as the radio let out a few more quiet pops of static, falling silent without fanfare. _Huh,_ he pondered, peering down at the thin headset. _Must’ve caught a signal this close to the surface_. Reaching down with dust-covered gloves, he stopped, hearing a faint noise coming from the headphone. Crouching down, he was just able to make out faint shouting.

“…look! It’s…ansmitting! It’s on! Al…uo hear me? Oh god, please be alive!” Reaching out, Larry gently tugged the headset from her dark hair. Catching a small camera on the front, he awkwardly held it out at arm’s length, trying to focus it on him. Clearing his throat, he gave a small wave, and began speaking, hoping the microphone could pick him up.

“Hi! Um…So. I’m Larry. I guess you know Alyx, whoever you are. We met…yikes, almost 12 hours ago, I think. Sometime around sunset, at any rate.” Straining to hear the faint chatter, he sighed. “Alright, I’m gonna go ahead and put this on, because I can’t hear you and I’m pretty sure you can’t hear me. Cool? Cool.” The final few words of the sentence spoken distractedly, Larry carefully pulled the headset on, adjusting the headphones slightly.

“Ok, is this working?” he asked expectantly. The radio’s merit was proven with a rather loud response.

“Who are you? Where’s Alyx? Is she alive? What have you done to her?!”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Larry answered quickly, not entirely surprised by the desperate and angry response. “My name’s Larry. I met Alyx yesterday. She, uh, saved me from a rather humiliating death.” The last sentence was half mumbled as he recalled “the Keith Incident,” he just decided to call it.

“Anyway, she’s right here. And she’s fine!” He paused, then clarified. “Mostly fine. Here, she’s right here.” Crouching back down, he looked directly at her still prone form.

“Oh my god, baby. Alyx? Can you hear me?” The distraught man paused. “Wait. What do you mean, mostly fine?” A note of suspicion and anger entered his voice. Larry held out his hands placatingly.

“She’s alive, if that’s what you’re worried about. Alright, you want the most or least severe issues first?” He quickly ploughed on. “Know what, never mind. Ok. Fingers are pretty badly burned, but that’s healing up quite nicely. And here,” He pointed to her arm, speaking over the man in the radio’s half gasp and half whimper.

“Broken arm. Lot better, and she’ll probably be fine in another day or two. Probably still needs to see a proper doc rather than a semi-trained field medic, and Xen vials will only take you so far. And that leads to the biggest concern.” Larry glanced up to Alyx’s still face.

“She hasn’t woken up yet, beyond some muttering about her dad and…something about a large nudge.” He paused, stringing his theories together for presentation. “I’m not an expert, but I have a few decent ideas of why she won’t wake up. Least likely, X-Pool OD. Too much of the stuff in a small timeframe can really mess you up if you’re not careful. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had been popping the stuff all day yesterday, given by the bullet holes. Jesus, that’s a lot of bullet holes,” The last sentence was half murmured to himself. The voice returned, panic prominent in his words.

“What’s the other reason? Oh god, Alyx…” Larry swallowed.

“Most likely reason? Concussion. Simple as that. Either from the sheet of metal or hitting the ground. My moneys on the ground.” The man replied frantically, “What? What happened?!” Larry sighed.

“Well, there she was, floating down from the Axe in the weird gravity well, when a big panel flies into said well. Slammed into her and knocked her out of the well. Probably fell about four meters.” The man let out a choked cough, moving away from the microphone. A different person spoke, puzzlement shining through the worry in his voice.

“What do you mean, the Axe? Do you mean the Vault?” Larry stopped, confused. Suspiciously replying, “The Axe. You know, the massive floating ship? Well, the one that used to float.” The same voice replied. “Yeah, the Vault. The Axe? Why?” The question held a note of disbelief. Faintly indignant, Larry retorted, “Well, it looks like an axe head, and the Vault? Seriously? How bland can you get?!” The voice shot back, equally offended.

“It’s called the Vault because it’s meant to hold something! And calling it the Axe implies that it’s a weapon, not a safe!” Ready to let loose, Larry opened his mouth only to be cut off by the first voice reentering the conversation. “Figure out what to call the damn thing later. Alyx…she’s ok, right? She isn’t…different?” Larry considered this, brow furrowing.

“I have a pretty good idea of what you mean. I don’t think it’s likely ( _I hope I’m wrong_ ), but something may have happened up there to keep her unconscious. Isn’t out of the realm of possibilities, especially considering the Combine. But I’m more inclined to believe blunt trauma is the root cause.” A shudder rolled over him, slowly, intently. The temperature of the room seemed to fall ten degrees.

“And I’d rather not think about whatever they were keeping up there, to get them this frenzied.” Another shiver as he glanced toward the doorway. “Oh god,” the man whispered. “Hey, hey, Eli it’s ok. It probably is just blunt trauma from falling from the sky.” The voice paused. “Can’t believe I’m hoping for someone to have blunt trauma. Except maybe Breen, bloody bastard.” Larry coughed in the ensuing silence.

“Alright, cool, two questions. Firstly, who are you people?” The radio remained silent. “We can’t reveal who we are-”

“Eli, it’s fine. Larry could’ve-Larry, right?”

“Yep,” aforementioned person popping the ‘p’.

“-Larry could’ve handed Alyx to the Combine by now or killed her himself.” A bit of cheer crept into his voice.

“I’m Russel, and this is Eli, Alyx’s dad.” The reminder shot into Larry’s head. “Oh, right, there’s something I need to talk to you about later. But before that…” He paused, gathering his breath and thoughts.

“I have one last question. Can someone tell me what the hell’s going on? Some woman covered in blood shows up at my metaphorical doorstep, kills the horrifying spore monster I haven’t been able to put a scratch in for months, then walks away like it’s nothing!” A breath. “After which, and I’m guessing before which too, tears her way through the QZ like it’s a walk in the park, takes down a level six – level six! – megastructure effortlessly, miraculously kills a Strider without being vaporized, floats up into the Axe,” Larry ignored the muttered “It’s called the Vault,” from Russel and steamed ahead.

“-Doing God knows what or finding God knows who, somehow critically damages the ship to the point it needs an emergency mass power damper. All of that, with a handgun, and only burns and a broken arm to show for it.” Rant over, silence reigned as Larry attempted to hold back the sudden exhaustion reappearing in his life. A faint cough, someone turned away from the speaker.

“There’s not a lot we can tell you-” Russel broke through, no small amount of exasperation present in his voice. “Eli, come on, the man saved Alyx’s life! We can at least explain why she was in the QZ.” Raising his voice slightly over Eli’s protests, he began to explain. “The Combine grabbed Eli after we pulled off a beautifully executed heist, so Alyx snuck into the QZ to stop him from getting to Nova Prospekt.” Larry shuddered at the name. The infamous prison.

“We stopped the train-well, derailed it, but technically we stopped it-”

“I am not at all surprised.”

“After that, Eli escaped, and we figured out what got Overwatch’s pants in a twist. Eli?” Larry heard a long-suffering sigh, before he picked up the tale. “I pocketed a Combine datapod. At the time, all we knew was they were keeping some sort of superweapon locked up in the QZ. They were going to ship it off world, so we decided to steal it before they did.” Russel took over again.

“Surprisingly, the Vault was powered by Vortigaunts. We freed one, and a bunch of them began to knock the substations powering the Vault down like dominoes. Anyhow, the substations went out, but surprise, surprise, there was an emergency backup. Fortunately, Alyx managed to deactivate it.” A moment of silence. “Unfortunately, by deactivate, I mean accidentally destroy.” Larry nodded his head, thoughts and theories chasing one another in his skull.

“Ok,” he slowly replied, “So the Vault was guarding a superweapon. Wait,” the realization kicked him sharply in the shin. “Alyx didn’t bring out any weapon. What was it? A super-nuke? Some type of virus? Wait, please don’t tell me it was another Nihilanth.” The mere concept of the immensely powerful driving force behind the invasion at Black Mesa sent chills running down his spine.

“…it wasn’t a weapon.” Eli muttered, barely understandable. “It was a person.” Russel quickly interjected. “We overheard someone in the QZ say the guy they had in there survived Black Mesa, then disappeared. And that could mean only one person.” The answer seared itself into Larry’s fast-paced thoughts.

“Gordon Freeman.”

Russel snapped his fingers. “Ding-ding-ding, we have a winner. And that’s who we thought it was.” His tone dropped, a grim aura settling around the unseen man like a cloak. “Right up until Alyx stepped into the Vault.” Larry waited a moment, expecting more. None forthcoming, he uttered the unnerving question.

“If it wasn’t him…who?” A startled gasp of air responded.

“Huh, I…I-I can’t remember?” The last word was a question, statement, and plea for help. Larry’s eyebrow climbed his forehead of its own accord. “Here, lemme pull up the…” Russel’s voice faded, now sounding thoroughly baffled, concern and hints of panic beginning to creep in. “What is it Russel?” The other voice also faded slightly, leaving a very uneasy Larry to sit and wait, staring at a wall, trying to process the data he was given as well as the events unfolding in front of him. “The data’s gone Eli!” A startled curse broke through the headset, followed by the sharp scrape of a chair and frantic muttering overlaid upon the sharp clacking of a keyboard.

“DAMNIT!” the explosive expletive sending Larry reeling back, hands clapped to his ears. “What the hell? It’s all gone! How in god’s name…” more muttering followed the pronouncement. A few agonizing minutes later, the disturbed Eli determined that, the data was gone, and apparently for no reason whatsoever. No failsafe had been activated, no remote hacks, nothing. The sheer bafflement in his tone left Larry attempting to rationalize a reason for why it had apparently been erased. Larry was not one to ignore strange happenings. Coincidence, at least to him, was an illusion. Everything happened for a reason. For every effect, there is a cause, no matter how strange that cause may be. And something caused this supposed data on what had been contained in the Axe ( _I refuse to call it the Vault_ ). Something caused this data to wipe. He wasn’t sure what, but nothing happens randomly, even if it appears to be random. Tuning back to Russel and Eli’s rapid back-and-forth conversation, he finally asked the important question.

“Russel. For some reason you can’t remember what you found, right?” Pausing in the middle of his theory that a bird synth had swooped by and wirelessly wiped the datapod, Russel quickly answered, still completely confused. “Yeah, I…can’t remember. Why?” Larry metaphorically turned to his companion.

“So, Eli, can you remember?” Empty words hung in the chilly air. One second. Two seconds.

“No,” the old man replied, his strained voice almost as cold as the air itself. “I-no. I can’t remember.” The last word fell flat. Bullshit detector shrieking madly, Larry’s eyes narrowed. _He knows what the Combine tried to imprison._ Opening his mouth to call him out, Alyx beat him to the punch with a small groan. Eyes shooting to her, Larry began to sit up, only to fall back down in surprise as she let out a quiet giggle.

“I’ma vortigaunt!” Her arm jerked slightly; the faint movement followed by a noise Larry could only guess was a zap. He decided that she was trying to imitate a bolt of lightning. If said bolt of lightning was being suffocated under a pillow. With another giggle, she grew still. Silence dominated the room after her delirious pronouncement.

“Russel,” the words were spoken in a not-quite normal voice. “Y-yeah?” Stone-like expression glued to his face, the grimy scavenger replied. “Please tell me you have an MRI stashed away somewhere.” Echoing the same flat tone, Russel answered.

“Sorry mate. Fresh outta stock. Should’ve ordered last week.”

“Ah. Shame that.”

“Indeed.”

Eli’s concerned yet confused voice joined the dysfunctional back and forth. “Has she…been doing that a lot?” Pulling himself back together, Larry shook his head negative.

“No, not too often. The vortigaunt identity crisis thing is new though. The few times she said something was either about you, or…nudges, for some reason.” He sighed. “This has been a really weird day. Weird even for the QZ.” The other two dutifully voiced their agreement. Eyes beginning to droop shut at an alarming rate, Larry let out an enormous yawn, sagging down against the wall.

“Hey, I’m about to pass out, can someone make sure I don’t get eaten by a headcrab?” Eli immediately replied. “Russel, I can’t sleep. Go get some shut eye, I’ll take the first watch. Only slightly protesting, Larry finally heard Russel acquiesce, another chair scraping back as heavy footsteps faded from sound.

“Cheers mate, wake me up if something comes through the door. Or Alyx wakes up for real. Whichever comes first.” With that, Larry succumbed to the madhouse of fun within his dreams.

_Fragments sailed by, disjointed sounds and colors meshing into strange, unnerving murals. She waded through the ineffable fog, caught in invisible molasses. Mere glances into the shattered windows revealed flashes; grey sheets of metal, a spark of green electricity, warped apartments, split and tangled together, a cat’s cradle gone horribly wrong. And over it all, a ghostly piano played around her, an eerie melody haunting every breath of freezing air. Alyx pushed through the viscous fog, there was nothing else she could do. Keep moving forward. Survive. Garbled words broke into the air, a phrase, a word, cut apart quickly with the effort of changing the radio station. Her father, Russel, her own voice, another._

_So familiar, yet not. The syllables warped and flared in strange, unnatural tunes; the words shaped differently. The frantic sounds sped up, racing towards a crescendo, blurring and flaring into a hair-raising wail. A single rattling breath whispered into her ear above the incoherent keening. With just the faintest hint of amusement discernable, the voice, with its nasal, lurching intonation and peculiarly pitched words, spoke._

_“Your wish, heh, is my command.” Another breath, hitched. “It’s time to wake up, Miss Vance.” And she knew no more._

She woke with a gasp, eyes flying open only to squeeze shut against the absurdly bright light and burning sensation in her hands and arm. She wondered if there was a carpenter hammering a hole into the back of her skull with more enthusiasm than necessary. Reaching up with the arm that wasn’t twinging in pain, Alyx gingerly felt around her head, wincing at the slightest amount of pressure. A small groan fell from her mouth, wincing at the pins and needles prodding her entire body. Cracking an eyelid open, she determined the light wasn’t going to continue viciously stab her eyes, so she slowly forced them open further and further. Within a few moments, the room she was laying in was revealed, and the light gradually dimmed to a soft yellow glow. It was small, just on the edge of being cramped. Shifting her gaze around with eyes as heavy as bowling balls, Alyx could see an open doorway; dark, but not pitch black, like back in the sewers. And to her right – Larry?

The strange scavenger she had met in the distillery was propped against the wall opposite the doorway, cozying up with several wooden supply crates. He made no sound; the only visible sign of life was the faint rise and fall of his chest. With cracked lips, she coughed, trying to dislodge the nasty, foul tasting sludge of saliva pooled in the back of her throat. She coughed again, the dull pain in her arm flaring with every shudder of her lungs trying and failing to expel the disgusting liquid from her mouth.

With her eyes watering, it was sheer luck that Alyx caught Larry’s eyes snap open, darting around the dim room before focusing on her. Narrowing his eyes for a fraction of a second, he slowly grinned and pushed himself up with a yawn, stretching to the ceiling with bones which sounded as if they were snapping into dozens of jagged pieces. With a relieved groan, he began walking towards her.

“Hey, you’re awake! Honestly wasn’t even sure you would!” Blinking in surprise, she let out a hoarse squawk of surprise as he crouched down in front of her and leaned in close enough to her face that she could make out every pore.

“Just gotta make sure you’re not concussed,” he explained, pulling his flashlight off his vest. Flicking it on, he murmured, “Hold still.” He shone it into one eye, then the other, before flicking it off with a hum of satisfaction. Blinking away the swimming spots, she nodded to his question of,

“Need water?” He strode to the opposite wall, rifling through a shelf, suddenly turning around and firmly saying, “Don’t move your arm if you can avoid it, it’s broken.” A quick glance confirmed this, as she noticed the splint holding her arm together, despite the feeling it was about to fall off. Rummaging around for a bit, the tall man mumbled a thing or two before grabbing an actual bottle of water. Alyx blinked in shock. It had been months since she had seen bottled water, now that the Combine had figured out how to make it into a disgusting slab of…something. _Best not to think too hard about it._ A massive yawn escaped the man’s lips as he walked back to her, crouching down to hand the bottle to her before drawing back with a gasp, looking as if he had been burned.

“Hold on, what do your hands look like?” Glancing down, she grimaced at the sharp spike of pain in her fingers, quickly realizing they were pink and shiny and raw, and the palm of her glove was somewhat charred. Worryingly enough, she couldn’t recall what had caused that. _Did I stick my hands in a fire?_ Larry appraised the sensitive flesh with a critical eye, before letting out a relieved sigh and saying,

“Ok, good, that’s looking much better. I think it should be completely fine with another med-vial or two.” Another sigh, this one much more somber. “That said, I’d rather not do that just yet, considering just how much you’ve been using the stuff all day. So, it’ll feel like you grabbed a bunch of nettles until then, remember, don’t scratch no matter how painful it gets.” Picking the bottle back up, Larry twisted off the cap and handed it over to Alyx. Ignoring the prickling in her fingertips, she downed half the bottle in one go. Surfacing for air, she realized just how long it had been since she had eaten any sustenance bars. In response, her stomach released an embarrassingly loud rumble.

Without saying anything (for which she was very grateful), Larry swiftly stood and moved over to the stove sitting next to the shelf, reaching into the backpack lying next to it. The worst of her thirst immediately quenched, Alyx expelled a much less grating cough and drank again, this time savoring the flavor. Sharp clacks premediated the small whoosh of flame in the belly of the stove, and Larry immediately grabbed the cans of food, punching them open with a knife and dumping the contents into the iron pan lying on said stove. With a few more coughs, Alyx winced as the motion drove the spike deeper and deeper into her temple. Swallowing, she finally spoke with a slightly hoarse voice, the water unable to completely drain away the grit.

“Larry? How did you get here?” Another cough. “-And where-,” cough, “-are we?” He glanced over to her, stirring the pot with a spoon he seemingly pulled out of thin air. With a thoughtful, _hmm_ , he replied.

“First question: it’s a long story that’s gonna need some context from you. Second question: I…am not sure. Things got a bit…messy back there, to say the least.” He paused. “But before that, let’s talk about you. How do you feel?” Truthfully, Alyx felt like she had been cornered and beaten by a team of metrocops. With a grimace, she waved a hand dismissively.

“I’m fine, just…” Seeing the flat gaze being leveled at her, Alyx felt her pride wilt away. “…My arm hurts, I think I roasted my fingers, and my head is killing me.” She shrugged, as much as she was able to. “Other than that, just sore and tired. Hey, what happened to my arm?” The older man opened and closed his mouth a few times before swallowing and returning his gaze back to the steaming pan.

“I guess you don’t remember falling out of the A- the Vault.” Her stomach dropped, a horrible sensation creeping up her spine with icy claws. “I…fell out?” Larry nodded deliberately, reaching back into his bag. “Yep. Nasty fall. And it’s probably why you didn’t wake up for a while. By the way…” He glanced back over to her, a strange mixture of concern and curiosity visible in his eyes.

“What happened in there? And how’d you shut down the ship?” The icy feeling accelerated, along with her heartrate. “I…don’t remember? I was rising, and then…then…” Alyx tried to articulate further, but her memory was a blank wall, no cracks to peek through, so with no clue as to how to explain what exactly happened, she gave up. Larry’s frown deepened.

“Jeez, another member of the amnesia club.” With a gasp of realization, the spoon he was holding fell into the pan from slack fingers. “Oh god, please tell me they haven’t figured out remote memory wipes.” Defying the impossible, her stomach fell even lower, before the rational side of her brain took back control.

“No,” she began hesitantly.” That can’t be it. You remember what happened, right?” Larry’s only response was a slow, considering nod. “But why don’t you or your dad remember?” Alyx’s eyes widened in shock.

“Dad! Is he ok?” Larry waved a hand dismissively, trying to fish his spoon from the delicious-smelling concoction he was cooking up.

“He’s fine. Oh! I almost forgot!” He reached up and pried her headset off his ears, walking back over to hand them over. “Sorry about that, needed to talk to ‘em. Oh, it’s about to burn! Hey, turn up the volume, I want to hear!” Larry hurried back to his creation as Alyx pulled the headset back on with a bit of a struggle, her broken arm and burnt fingers making it trickier than usual. Snuggly fitting it to her crown, she quickly asked,

“Dad? Russel? Anyone there?” A sharp snore reacted to her inquiry, promptly followed by a tired, frantic, and achingly familiar voice.

“I’M AWAKE I’M AWAKE! Larry, zombie! Get up! Get-.” The voice trailed off. “Wait, Alyx?” A tired smile broke out on her face at the sound of her friend.

“The one and only, Rus.” A half-choked laugh burst out through the radio. “Oh, thank god, you’re ok! And you’re not brain damaged! Wait.” A momentary lapse. “You’re not, right?” A small chuckle fell from her lips.

“Nope, don’t think so. Just a bad headache. And memory loss. Where’s dad?” She brought out the question prodding her ever since she heard his name. A sharp squeal of wood on wood, burst out through the headset, followed by a gasp, a crash, and a curse.

“Dammit, I just fixed that! Never mind, never- Eli! She’s awake!” Russel’s voice faded slightly, replaced with the tell-tale sound of her dad’s prosthetic banging against the floor. His breathless voice quickly replaced the harsh noise, ragged and exhausted. Alyx had never been so grateful to hear him.

“Alyx! Baby, are you ok?” She needlessly nodded. “Dad, I’m ok, just tired and confused.” She heard a choked noise through the radio, a prayer of gratitude. “Oh, Christ, I was so worried. Are you safe? Where Are you?”

“DON’T ANSWER THAT!” Russel’s shout left her wincing, the loud man continuing to clarify. “Combine could be listening in on the frequency, which may be how they figured out Alyx’s name.” “Any chatter about her?” Russel replied in a strained voice.

“Some. Most of it is about securing the Vault and sending in reinforcements. But they’ve redoubled their efforts. Worst part is, I think they might send in a pack of hunters. Maybe Elites.” Alyx’s anxiety shot through the roof upon hearing those terrifying words.

“Aren’t those the highly classified experimental prototypes? They wouldn’t-” Larry broke into the conversation finally, looking up from the food. “Yeah, they would. They’re pissed. Like really pissed. You kicked the hornet’s nest, and didn’t get stung, which is bound to really make them mad. Food’s ready.” With that rather disturbing announcement, he poured the contents into two bowls he had grabbed from his bag ( _Is there nothing he doesn’t have in there?_ ).

With a grateful, “Thanks,” Alyx accepted the steaming bowl, balancing it on her lap as they dug in. For several minutes, they ate without speaking, allowing the two to relax for the first time in a while. The food was a mixture of many different types of canned food. While a bit stale and overcooked, it was leagues ahead of the disgusting slop Alyx had been living off of during her time in reconnaissance. Eventually, Larry glanced up and frowned. “So, you really don’t remember what was in the thing?” Replicating his troubled expression, Alyx shook her head.

“No, nothing.” Her dad inhaled sharply. “Alyx, you can’t remember going into the Vault?” She nodded, the hard knot of tension uncomfortably mixing with the hot stew. “Nothing. Dad, why didn’t you want me to go into the Vault?” A pregnant pause, followed by a hesitant,

“I…I-I don’t remember.” _Don’t remember?_ “What-,” She started before a distant alarm sounded, followed immediately by the faint but distinct voice of overwatch issuing orders. With a swear, Larry began to wolf down his food, saying between mouthfuls,

“Figure it out later. We need to go, before they find us.” She also began forcing down the rest of her food, intersected with gulps of water, only partially listening to Russel. “We need to get you out of the QZ, probably the city as well. In fact, I’ll go talk to the rest of the crew, tell them to start prepping to go back to Black Mesa East. We should lay low for a while, maybe try to smuggle the reactor out of the city.” Alyx nodded, questions and concerns beginning to race through her mind, _did they seal up the tunnel I used to get in,_ and, _what do we do if they send hunters after us?_ Without warning, a klaxon sounded in the distance, thin and wavering. Alyx and Larry glanced at one another, and in silent agreement, began to strike the temporary camp.

With quick but controlled moves, Larry grabbed the two bowls, giving both a quick swipe with a hopefully clean cloth before stuffing them both back into his pack. Alyx awkwardly climbed to her feet, wincing at the soreness in her legs and feet. The thought of her supplies hit her, and she quickly grabbed into the frayed canvas of her backpack. Her fingers brushed over her multitool, a couple spare resin, some clips, and a shotgun shell before settling on the comforting grip of the gun she had become strongly attached to in the past day. Shoving aside a few more clips of ammo, she scrambled for her other guns, but came up empty.

“Larry, what happened to my guns?” Alyx delivered the question with the faintest note of worry. Heaving his backpack over his shoulders, Larry spoke without looking. “You mean the rifle? I borrowed that, still don’t have a gun. I’ll give it back once this whole mess is cleaned up.”

“No, I meant the shotgun.” It seemed this was the question to ask, as Larry glanced up with a perplexed expression. “Shotgun?” She let out a frustrated groan, heaving her bag back on with a grimace. No time to reminisce over the neat weapon she had chanced upon in the depths of the city. The klaxon sounded off once more, the final warning to move out. Their supplies cleaned up, Alyx followed Larry out of the safe room without ceremony. She glanced down, peering into the darkness, then glanced up at the rapidly brightening sky, brilliant streaks of red and pink coloring the clouds, indicating sunrise had begun.

“We probably won’t be able to reach you down there, so good luck Alyx. Be careful.” Russel’s concerned voice was already fragmenting with static. Alyx nodded, quick to alleviate his worry. “I’ll be careful Rus. Speak soon.” The only reply was a sharp final crack of static, before cutting off with intimidating abruptness. She descended down the dusty maintenance stairwell, coughing a bit at the thick dust swirling through the air from their movement. Alyx drew upon Larry shoving the door open with a final successful heave. The familiar stench of Xen flooded her senses. As if to echo her thoughts, Larry shone his flashlight into the darkness, irony coating his words.

“Ah, nothing quite like the sight of alien fungi to begin the day.” Striding into the tunnel, Alyx followed the older man, glancing back to notice a lambda mark sprayed onto the wall next to the door. Usually it was a comforting sign, the signal the Resistance rallied under. Yet, for some strange reason this one gave off a cold, unnerving feeling. Suppressing a shudder, Alyx turned back around and forged ahead with her unlikely companion.


End file.
